To Follow Still the Changes of the Moone

With Fresh Suspicions

Harry barely slept that night, both hoping Severus would come to bed and dreading it. But the man rarely slept himself, at least at night, particularly when some project held his attention downstairs; and even more seldomly when preparing for N.E.W.T.s. Harry remembered a time when Severus would sometimes study him with a look that now seemed reserved only for test tubes and piping. He had loved and hated it at the same time; that still, intense look of fascination and anticipation, as if Harry were some slow-maturing potion. He had never been sure what change Severus expected to see in him.

He smiled at the memory, but it was bittersweet...That seemed like such a long time ago now, especially to a man as young as Harry.

After a few more hours of tossing and turning, he finally gave up on proper sleep and got dressed, walking into the sitting room on his way to the bathroom, where he noticed the magazine still sat untouched on the coffee table. Apparently Severus had not come upstairs at all in the night. And really, why would he come up if he did not expect Harry to be home? Harry had long suspected Severus preferred his cot in the lab and only ever slept in the full size in the bedroom to appease his young lover.

After much deliberation, Harry snatched up the magazine and stowed it in his satchel, not wanting to provoke, even in the rather pleasant way he'd intended. For all his grumbling about Severus' possessiveness, a part of him delighted in it. It was often the only proof he had of the man's affection. Harry was almost afraid Severus wouldn't react to the magazine at all. And he was afraid of what, then, that would mean.

"Our Severus," Harry muttered under his breath, not even really aware he was thinking of what happened the night before until the words slipped out. 'Our'. As if they shared. As if Severus wasn't his completely, his exclusively. It left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Harry told himself he was simply overreacting. He resolved to just give it time. Confronting Severus before he was sure of anything was certain to end in disaster anyway.

Harry flooed out, hopefully without the man ever knowing he'd come home. But it wasn't as easy to leave the matter behind him as he had intended; and Harry was distracted all that day at Academy, suffering several bruises for it. Though Harry really did no worse than the other cadets, his instructor seemed mildly disappointed; and Harry cursed inwardly. Expectation insisted on following him. He'd naively thought that winning the war would have laid that all to rest, would have allowed him to be normal finally. But it had only solidified his reputation, increased his celebrity. Neither of which Harry had ever wanted.

Harry left for the weekend determined. Determined not to think about Severus, or about his final assessment and graduation...or anything at all actually.

Grimmauld Place was quiet when he walked in with his arms full of wallpaper and buckets of paste. He'd been meaning to strip and re-paper the third floor for months, and right now he needed something at which to throw some mindfulness. Harry didn't wait for Remus to get back from whatever errand he was on, instead heading straight upstairs and to work.

It was hot, messy business, and Harry stripped his shirt, focusing on the task at hand and ignoring, as best he could, the sweat that trickled ticklishly down his back. His work was steady and productive. And before long, Harry was empty of all thoughts of Severus...Severus and Loraina. Harry was only here and now, only sweating and scraping, peeling paper and burning muscles.

Which is why he didn't hear Remus come home. Didn't hear him climb the stair. Didn't notice his expression when he wandered curiously into the room to see what all the noise was about. In fact, Harry didn't realize the man was present at all until he returned a moment later and cleared his throat, offering Harry a glass of cool water. Harry was momentarily startled, then immensely and vocally grateful.

"You're a lifesaver," he grinned at Remus, stepping down from his stool and using his cast off shirt to swipe at the worst of the sweat before accepting the glass.

"You could have waited for me, you know," Remus chided.

Harry shrugged. "I needed to get my mind off some things," he explained, still short of breath from his exertions. He took a seat on the step ladder and swallowed half his water in one go. "Made some progress, though," he said, surprised himself at the amount of work he was able to get done. Remus stepped back and leaned against the door frame with his arms folded. He scanned the room, nodding, but quickly turned his attention back to the young man, studying him much more thoughtfully.

"So," he said toeing at some discarded paper on the floor. "Did anything in particular inspire this sudden productivity?" His tone was curious, but his look was concerned. It was subtle, and no doubt most others would not have picked up on it. But Harry had been reading the man's expressions for years now and wasn't so oblivious any longer to Remus' frequent worry. Harry set down his glass lest it betray him if his hands began to shake, wiping the condensation on his jeans. He momentarily considered lying, saying nothing was bothering him. But Remus had been reading him for years, as well, and would see through it in an instant. Harry never really had been adept at dishonesty anyway. He shrugged.

"Just...things didn't go as planned last night," he admitted finally to the floorboards. Remus nodded again and found an unopened bucket to perch on, resting his elbows on his knees, waiting for Harry to elaborate. But Harry had spent all afternoon avoiding the subject and didn't feel like confronting it now. "How are you feeling today? Up for a bit of home improvement?" he asked Remus with a grin. He pointed to a roll of wallpaper, hoping to distract him. "Sorry I didn't check with you first. What do you think of that pattern? I thought it might look nice with the new drapes." He chuckled. "But then I'm not all that domestic. Too used to bare dungeon stones. If you hate it, you had better say something before we put it up."

"Harry," Remus said softly, "it's your house."

Harry sighed, avoided looking at Remus, not wanting him to see the annoyance in his face. "Yeah. But you live here still. And I think you have a better eye for this stuff, anyway."

Remus looked at the wallpaper and nodded, but somehow Harry knew all this nodding had nothing to do with the pattern, and it was starting to get on his nerves. He knew what was coming.

"Harry, it's fine. I like it...Listen," he ventured. "Do you want to-"

"Put up wallpaper?" Harry interrupted, his voice forcefully light. "Yeah. Want to lend a hand?"

Remus hesitated. Harry could tell he wasn't going to let the matter go, just put it on hold. Remus nodded again, and Harry bit back the curse on his tongue. "Where are we starting?" Remus asked finally, peeling off his cardigan and then his own shirt as he surveyed the wall. But Harry was too distracted to answer straight away.

Remus rarely removed his shirt, instead opting to sweat through whatever task they set about fully-covered. Harry suspected it was because he was self-conscious about his scars. But then they all had scars now, didn't they?

Actually...Harry didn't think he'd ever seen the man disrobed in any way. He habitually wore at least as many layers as Severus. Shirt, jumper or vest, cardigan or jacket. Somehow it had always made him seem vulnerable to Harry, though he wasn't sure why. Severus never seemed vulnerable. His layers were his armour. But Remus never wore imposing black robes. His layers were mild-mannered, and it made him look...meek. Nakedness took a certain amount of confidence. And not the brand in which Remus was wealthy.

But now the man stood topless, showing no hesitancy or self-consciousness at being so as he rested his fists on his narrow hips and considered the walls, his ill-fitting trousers hanging low. And why should he be hesitant? Remus was surprisingly fit, a fact that apparently had always been well disguised by layers of knit and wool. Harry momentarily considered it some shock tactic to get him to talk. And if the aim had been to unsettle Harry, Remus had certainly succeeded.

But more likely, it was simply that it was hot in the room, and Harry was Harry. And Harry had his own shirt off, and not with any thought of effecting Remus.

Right? Right.

So why was Harry so...bothered?

"Harry?" Remus asked, throwing the young man an inquiring look over his shoulder. Harry blushed and quickly grabbed his own shirt.

"Actually, you know, I just realized how tired I am," he hedged, for some reason having difficulty finding the opening in his top in his rush to put it on. "I didn't sleep well last night, and they put us through the paces today. We'll do it later. I'll probably be here all weekend, anyway. Apparently, Severus has N.E.W.T.s to take care of…Want to see about dinner?" he asked, finally managing to pull his t-shirt over his head.

Remus gave him one of those looks. One of those 'stop moving about so much and let me puzzle you out' looks. So Harry didn't wait for his response, walking out the door and bouncing down the stairs with Remus following more slowly, crawling back into his own clothes as he went.

In the kitchen, Harry began opening cupboards. Remus stayed out of the way of his increasingly frantic search.

"Anything in particular-?"

"I thought I saw some Firewhiskey in here the other day," Harry said, still digging.

"Ah. You meant that kind of dinner," Remus said, almost to himself. "I thought you meant food in some form," he added, nonetheless reaching overhead and pulling own a large, half-full bottle of brown liquor and setting it on the table. Harry quickly snatched up two glasses, leaving all the cupboard doors open behind him as he took a heavy seat and poured himself a shot. He downed it quickly, grimacing a bit at the bite, then poured another and also one for Remus this time. Harry leaned back in his chair and played with the liquid in his glass as he waiting for the last drink to do its work. Remus took his glass in hand, but looked only at Harry. And the young man could feel it on the back of his neck.

"Could you please not?" Harry said rather irritably. Remus gave him a puzzled look. "Remus. Please just sit, will you? Drink the bloody whiskey."

Remus carefully took his seat, sipped at his drink, being far more patient than Harry felt he had any right to be. Harry wasn't trying to argue with Remus, but the man was so unflappable. And that was a far cry from what Harry was accustomed to at home. Of course, there the roles were reversed more often than not, with Severus doling out the irritability and Harry calmly taking it in stride. He sighed, determined once again to stop thinking about home; and the man there who was unknowingly driving Harry slowly mad, and probably for some imaginary fucking reason.

Harry sighed. "You're doing it still," he pointed out calmly, feeling Remus' eyes on him despite his whirling thoughts. He was still irritable but forcing himself to be a bit more tactful.

"Harry...What exactly am I meant to be doing?" Remus said, exasperated, but in a good-natured sort of way. Harry was finding it harder and harder to be annoyed when Remus was so mild. He shook his head.

"The Look," he clarified, playfully wagging a finger at the man. "You have many, but this one says..." Harry cleared his throat and attempted a hopefully non-mocking imitation of the man's soft-spoken tone. "'Now, Harry. We both know you'll feel better if you talk about it.'"

Remus looked slightly affronted. Then abashed. Then amused. He smiled reluctantly and took a drink, careful not to look at Harry as he did so. "...I don't really do that," he said finally. "Do I?"

Harry grinned, which triggered one in Remus as well. "Oh yes," he told Remus. "You do. Tell me, with a straight face, that wasn't what you were just thinking." Apparently the man couldn't, as he hid his blush in his glass, and Harry's smile broadened, knowing he'd cornered him. They stared at each other for a moment, and then the silent giggles broke free of their tethers.

"Okay fine. I admit it," Remus said, chuckling. "But I worry about you, Harry," he added more soberly. "And I feel like the only thing I have to offer you is an open ear and my advice."

Harry shook his head, finished his drink and poured another. "Remus. Really. I don't just come here looking to burden you with my silly problems. It's not like it's your job or anything."

"It's not a burden or a chore, Harry," he said, looking fondly at the young man. "It's just what friends do." Harry accepted this with a smile and raised his glass.

"To friends then," he toasted. Remus played along, raising his own and then emptying it, allowing Harry to pour him another.

"So…" he said, looking a little rosy in the cheeks as he contemplated his new drink. "Are you going to tell me? Or do I have to give you the Look again?"

Harry groaned, but was smiling still. He'd had too much to drink too fast. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table, playing idly with his glass. He known as soon as he saw Remus' face upstairs that they were going to talk about this eventually. Remus was as stubborn as Harry was. Gryffindor trait, he assumed. But he really didn't want to talk about his suspicions yet. Because then he'd have to acknowledge them, and voicing them seemed like it would make them more concrete.

Of course, saying them out loud might also give Harry the opportunity to hear how silly they sounded. But he wasn't ready to take that risk.

"I just didn't get a chance to talk to Severus, is all." It wasn't technically a lie. "He's busy. I think it's to do with N.E.W.T.s," Harry explained.

Remus scowled slightly. "Huh," he said, reaching for the bottle. Even through the increasingly warm haze of his whiskey buzz, Harry could tell there was something on the man's mind.

"Huh, what?" Harry pressed. "Why do you 'huh'?"

Remus looked up at Harry as if he hadn't expected Harry to catch that. He shook his head. "It's nothing."

"Nope," Harry said, shaking his head. "You can't do that, Remus. Out with it."

Remus looked mildly uncomfortable. "It's just that...you were here last weekend for the same reason."

Harry shrugged. "Yeah?"

"How many N.E.W.T students does he have this year?"

Harry burrowed through the fuzz in his brain to find an answer. "A handful," he shrugged. "You know how picky he is when it comes to N.E.W.T.s."

"That's what I thought," Remus said, taking a contemplative sip but offering nothing further. Harry had the urge to shake the man until he just spit it out.

"Remus…" he warned.

"It's just that...he's spending an awful lot of time on a handful of students," he mused. The look on Harry's face seemed to signal to Remus he had wandered into dangerous waters and the man back-treaded. "But perhaps he just sees extra promise in these," Remus reasoned aloud, attempting to brush it off. Harry scowled.

"He didn't have much nice to say about them last time I asked," he muttered, deep in thought.

"Oh well," Remus said, picking up on Harry's sudden shift in mood and possibly feeling it was time to lay the subject to rest. "You know him better than I do. I'd almost suspect insults are the closest Severus ever comes to compliments. If he really disliked you, he'd probably just ignore your existence."

"Yeah," Harry said distractedly. "You're probably right."

Or maybe Severus wasn't spending as much time with his N.E.W.T. students as Harry had thought. Maybe Severus just wanted Harry out of the house.

"Speaking of exams…" Remus ventured. "There's still time to prepare, you know. Are you sure you don't want to sit them? I'd be more than happy to tutor."

"Now why would I do that when I've already been accepted into the Auror program?"

"Well, you might decide you don't want to be an Auror forever. Or a day may come when you are no longer able to be. Being an Auror is dangerous business. And If you're looking for employment elsewhere, they may not be as generous as the Academy has. Special dispensation are rare...Even for Harry Fucking Potter," he jibed. Harry waved him off.

"I graduate in a week, Remus. Besides, my vault at Gringott's is still pretty damned full. You and I both know I don't really even have to work."

"So why are you?" Remus asked him seriously. Harry stared at his drink.

"...it distracts me," he confessed. Remus didn't have to ask what from. They were all haunted by those they lost. But Harry even more so, because it had been his responsibility to save them. Severus had once provided Harry's distraction. And now it was Auror training.

And now Harry needed Firewhiskey to distract him from Severus. Though, it didn't seem to be working as well as anticipated. He sat his glass down and pushed it out of easy reach. Remus silently stood and collected their glasses, emptying them in the sink. Then he surreptitiously plucked the bottle from the table and stowed it back in the cupboard as Harry brooded.